When All Other Lights Go Out
by Maygin
Summary: A settlement is made, the deal broken, and now, one searches. Gen, wing-fic.


**When All Other Lights Go Out**

By: Maygin

Summary: A settlement is made, the deal broken, and now, one searches. Gen, wing-fic.

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue – all will be well.

The Blah-blah Section: So I've come to the conclusion I'm a wing-fic lover. So I'm trying my hand at actually writing one. This came together completely unexpectedly while sitting on the front porch of a dilapidated cabin in the middle of no-where Missouri while watching the sun rise and listening to some beautiful music in my headphones. I really didn't think an actual story would come out of it – but alas…story. Hope it's not too cheesy and I listed the music as the end if anyone would like to give it a listen. Be sure to leave me a note – I'm curious (as always) what ya'll think of this one. Big thank you to Bayre for being my beta and putting up with my weird ideas!

* * *

"_May it be a light for you, when all other lights have gone out." – J.R.R. Tolkien_

* * *

"Legend speaks of a man who fell from the earth into darkness. Forever he fell through the lonely cold of unending night. Then suddenly the darkness ended and the man fell into light, wrapped in its embrace and warmth. There, the light made the man sleep, kept him and nurtured him until one day the man was called back to the earth. The man came, bringing the light with him, carried upon his back."

Smoke curled along the ridge of the canyon, light from the crackling fire casting dark shadows against the faces of the two men, one young, one old, both aged by hardships, opposite one another beneath the canopy of stars above.

Firelight reflected in the younger man's intense gaze. "How did they call him back?"

The older man drew in a deep breath, experience and wisdom carved into his dark skin, his voice husky and accented. "They reminded the darkness how bright a light shines in the deepest black."

The younger man sat back in thought.

"Three days," the native man added. "Three days they called his name into the darkness."

"But he came?"

Old eyes slipped closed with a slow nod. "He came, but not as the man they once knew."

Dean Winchester bowed his head in appreciation, a whisper of hope lighting his edges long since void of anything. One could even say the beginnings of a smile appeared, but only just, as if he were saving the rest for someone special.

* * *

Three days later, Dean stopped walking, dropped his backpack and knelt on the dry, dusty ground. He didn't know where he was, only how he'd gotten there. He hoped that would be enough. He drew small sips from his water bottle, saving the rest, for what, he wasn't sure, as he watched the smears of orange, deep pinks and burgundy fade to twilight in the never ending sky across the flat brush plain surrounding him for miles.

"_I know what you plan, traveler. Do not travel lightly, for just as night forever chases the day, so too will the darkness chase the light."_

The words had been a warning, and Dean planned on following the old man's advice. His late father had long ago taught him to fend for himself, but Dean had learned on his own to listen. It was a hard-won lesson, and he'd had help. Help, he _planned_ on returning to his side.

With the last light of the day straining to hold onto the sky, Dean set about making a large circle with brush and wood he'd gathered. In the middle of the circle he laid down more wood, forming a symbol. Soon, gasoline doused the lines of the odd formation, ancient in its telling and yet timeless in Dean's heart.

Dean had travelled, farther than he'd ever thought possible, visited churches and libraries older than time, went into the homes of old men burdened with thoughts beyond them. He'd sought out and learned all he could and here, on this dusty plain with nothing around for miles, Dean's search ended.

He made an even larger circle around the waiting pyre with sea salt, and then placed five lumps of limestone around that. Finally, Dean pulled out a sawed off shotgun and stood at the edge of the circle, a single lit match in hand. The black sky was infinite and cold, billions of stars the small penetrating hope of the light that lay beyond.

Dean dropped the match and the wood was quickly overtaken by the flames. He stood as close as he dared before his whisper echoed into the heavens. "Come home, Sam."

* * *

Three days, Dean kept the pyre going, always there with more wood when the flames started to diminish. He slept in increments, somehow knowing instinctually when he needed to awaken and feed the fire. The burning symbol glowed and flickered brightly on the third night. Dean stood at the edge much like he had the first night, gun in hand, still, but filled with anticipation and a little fear. The night sky looked darker this night, colder, impenetrable, inky darkness closing in, blotting out the stars as if it knew what Dean was calling back.

Dean stood at the edge for hours, his fear growing as the darkness thickened. Finally, at the latest hour, when the darkness was most confident and swelled, a small pinprick of light penetrated the sky and quickly grew into a bright flash that filled the entire firmament and fell to the earth, a peal of thunder announcing it's arrival.

Dean stumbled back, arm drawn across eyes, blinded by the unnatural white light that died just as quickly as it had come. He blinked, hard and fast, pushing to his feet once more. The flames had been snuffed out and all that remained were deep, unnatural scorch marks against the earth, the same pattern the flames had burned.

In the middle of the scorched symbol lay a man, on his side, naked but for the sheet of soft, white feathers protruding from his back, draped over him like a security blanket.

Dean stood frozen at the edge of the blackened earth, his breath held and eyes wide. "Sam," he whispered, unable to loosen his voice from his fears. He took first one step, then another, slow but steady until he neared the body. He dropped to his knees, hands held out uselessly, uncertain of their actions.

Finally, he rested a hand on one of the wings, fingers pressing into warm feathers. The warmth spread into his hand, up his arm, tingling lightly when he lifted it, wide eyes searching it over. It was still his hand, rough with calluses and time, his fingerprints still the same.

Dean leaned forward and as gently as possible, pulled the wing back.

"Sam," Dean's voice trembled. Dark locks, longer than Dean had ever seen them, hung loosely sheared around the naked man's face. It was a face he'd never forget and promised to keep safe since he was four. Dean pulled his little brother's limp body into his arms, maneuvering around the wings until Sam was held tightly against his chest, Dean's jacket laid over him.

Dean remained in that position until daylight reached out once more and grasped the sky. It was the most beautiful sunrise Dean had ever witnessed. One he'd never let die in his heart.

When an early morning eagle called across the plains, soaring in the sky and awakening life to the new day, Dean produced a water bottle and gently pressed it to his brother's lips. Sam coughed a bit, but then drank greedily, drawing in deep breaths in between. Slowly, Sam's eyes blinked open, bright and clear and still the green earth tones Dean remembered.

Dean continued to hold him, waiting, until a slow, soft smile spread across Sam's face as they watched the sun overtake the plains.

"Dean," Sam said with quiet assurance, his voice clear and sorely missed.

"Morning sunshine," Dean smiled in return, resting in chin on the crown of his brother's head. "Welcome back."

"It's a beautiful morning," Sam's voice skated along the soft breeze sighing across the land.

"Best one ever," Dean agreed. Neither moved, just remained as they were, comfortable in the presence of each other, watching day break.

"Where are we?" Sam eventually asked.

Dean chuckled, "Australia."

"Always wanted to visit Australia," Sam said, thoughtful.

"Yeah, well, you're always bitching about a vacation, so…here ya go."

Sam sighed, a smirk on his face. "I suppose you want me to take us home?"

Dean perked up a bit, "You can do that?"

"I think so." Sam's fingers brushed against the scorched symbol of his name beneath them, etched in a language older than darkness and now burned into the earth. "I'll need to sleep for a while afterwards."

"Sleep as long as you need." Dean squeezed Sam's arm. "I'll watch over you."

Sam's eyes slipped shut and he smiled, drawing in a deep breath of fresh air. "Hold on," he said and when he opened his eyes again, white light surrounded them and then disappeared; the symbol all that remained of the two men and the return of light into the world.

On an empty highway of familiar and welcomed blacktop coasted a black machine, sunshine glinting off it's surface and it's comforting rumble of engine announcing it's presence to any passerby's.

Inside, Dean sat with his elbow resting in the open window, wind breezing through his hair and a content smile on his face. He glanced to his right where Sam lay curled against the passenger door, sleeping, wings tucked behind him, peaceful and safe. Dean drew in a deep breath and smiled wider, turning back to the endless, open road before them and whispered, "Welcome home, Sammy."

**THE END**

(Music: _Inamorata _by Vas for the whole opening scene and up until Dean whispers into the night. _Sense of Touch_ by Mark Isham from the Crash soundtrack for when Sam returns until the end. )


End file.
